“An infernally obstinate chap,” put in Mr. Blodwell.
Probably what George meant by being “let alone,” was the cessation of paragraphs in the Bull’s-eye. If so, his wish was not gratified. “Will Mr. George Neston”—George’s name was no longer “withheld”—“retract?” took, in the columns of that publication, much the position occupied by Delenda est Carthago in the speeches of Cato the Elder. It met the reader on the middle page; it lurked for him in the leading article; it appeared, by way of playful reference, in the city intelligence; one man declared he found it in an advertisement, but this no doubt was an oversight—or perhaps a lie.
George was not more sensitive than other men, but the annoyance was extreme. The whole world seemed full of people reading the Bull’s-eye, some with grave reprobation, some with offensive chucklings.
But if the Bull’s-eye would not leave him alone, a large number of people did. He was not exactly cut; but his invitations diminished, the greetings he received grew less cordial than of yore: he was not turned out of the houses he went to, but he was not much pressed to come again. He was made to feel that right-minded and reasonable people—a term everybody uses to describe themselves—were against him, and that, if he wished to re-enter the good graces of society, he must do so by the strait and narrow gate of penitence and apology.
“I shall have to do it,” he said to himself, as he sat moodily in his chambers. “They’re all at me—uncle Roger, Tommy Myles, Isabel—all of them. I’m shot if I ever interfere with anybody’s marriage again.”
The defection of Isabel rankled in his mind worst of all. That she, of all people, should turn against him, and, as a last insult, send him upbraiding messages through Tommy Myles! This she had done, and George was full of wrath.
“A note for you, sir,” said Timms, entering in his usual silent manner. Timms had no views on the controversy, being one of those rare people who mind their own business; and George had fallen so low as to be almost grateful for the colourless impartiality with which he bore himself towards the quarrel between his masters.
George took the note. “Mr. Gerald been here, Timms?”
“He looked in for letters, sir; but went away directly on hearing you were here.”
Timms stated this fact as if it were in the ordinary way of friendly intercourse, and withdrew.